


Wide Release Was Never An Option

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M, Porn Watching, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-07
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt: <i>The two of them watch a X-Men: First Class porno spinoff, and then sex.</i></p><p>The only sex is in the porno, sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wide Release Was Never An Option

James is brushing his teeth when his phone rings. He’s got no idea why anyone would be calling him at midnight, but he picks up anyway out of curiosity.

“Michael?”

“James,” says Michael breezily, “what are you doing right now?”

James looks longingly at his unmade bed. “I’m about to turn in for the night,” he says, “it’s been a long day of interviews and I’d like to get some rest before having to do it all again tomorrow.”

“Come on,” says Michael, and this time there’s something like laughter in his voice. “Listen, I’ve got something I have to show you. Hold on, don’t go to sleep, I’m coming over right now.”

“Don’t come over!” James heaves a sigh. “Michael, I have to sleep.”

Michael just laughs. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he replies, “this is something you’ll really want to see.”

 

*

 

“This had better be good,” says James somewhat grumpily fifteen minutes later, pulling the door open for Michael, who’s got his hands full. “Why are you holding a bottle of whiskey?”

Michael hands the bottle to James. “We’ll need it,” he says, and this time when he laughs James can see it in the lines of his face. “Actually, you might want to take a swig of that right now, before I show you the reason I’m here.”

James stares back impassively. “It’s midnight, Michael, or am I the only one here who has an interview at eight in the morning?”

Michael drops something into James’ arms. “Open it,” he urges with a quirk of his mouth. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“Fine, I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.” James wrestles with the paper packaging on what feels like a DVD case. “I can’t think of a single time when one of your ideas hasn’t led me straight into trouble.”

“It’s why you love me,” grins Michael, showing all his teeth. James tries hard not to roll his eyes. Finally he gets the packaging undone, and when he sees what’s on the DVD case, he nearly drops both it and the whiskey.

“Told you,” says Michael, cackling.

“ _X-Men: First Ass_ ,” reads James incredulously, eyes boggling at the scantily clad porn stars on the cover, “starring James Cockavoy and Michael Assbender. What the hell is this?!”

“It’s the true story of the Cuban Missile Crisis, apparently,” says Michael, nudging James backwards into the room. “Come on, get that bottle open, this is going to be good.”

 

*

 

“This is,” says James a third of the way into the film, waving around his glass in his right hand, “this is -- they’ve got my character all _wrong_ , this isn’t Charles Xavier at all.”

“Isn’t it?” says Michael over the rim of his own glass. He’s had almost the same amount to drink as James, but it’s unfair how he’s still mostly upright and barely tipsy while James is slumped over against the headboard and drinking his way into an inevitable hangover. “Charles is quite the ladies’ man, from what I recall. Didn’t he pull that stunt with Moira in the CIA compound?”

“Matthew cut that scene,” argues James. He takes another sip of the whiskey -- it’s good-quality whiskey, but he’s at that point where it’s starting not to matter. “And besides, he’d never use sex as leverage over Moira. That’s just so _immoral_.”

Michael just points at the screen, where a busty brunette is bouncing up and down on the uncut cock of James’ doppelganger. “This Moira doesn’t seem to think so,” he says, “she initiated it, didn’t she? And listen to her.”

James listens. She _does_ sound like she’s having a good time.

“Thank god that actress looks nothing like Rose,” he says. “I’d never be able to face her again.” He glances sideways at Michael. “How did they manage to get two actors who look exactly like us, but the rest of the characters could be anyone at all?”

Michael pours himself another glass of the whiskey. “We’re clearly the focus of the story,” he concludes, taking another sip. “Come on, McAvoy, sit back and enjoy it, it’s a porno, not an art film.”

“Fine,” says James. He holds out his glass to Michael for a refill.

 

*

 

An hour an a half later, and they’ve sat through:

\-- two more Charles/Moira scenes  
\-- a Charles/Angel scene set in a strip club far seedier than the one from the actual film, while Erik watches and sips his champagne  
\-- a Shaw/Emma scene involving creative uses of both mutants’ powers  
\-- Raven being gangbanged by the other members of the X-Men  
\-- a scene where Alex is fucked against a wall by a bulky black man who looks _nothing_ like Edi  
\-- a Charles/Emma telepathic sex scene  
\-- and Erik’s first sex scene of the entire film, a loving and tender liaison with a blue-painted Raven.

“I can’t take it any more,” says James, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You’ve killed my brain, Michael, what have you _done_.”

“Hush,” says Michael. It’s no small consolation that he, too, is incredibly drunk right now. “It’s almost over, James, I want to know how they’re going to end this.”

James glances back at the flatscreen with bleary eyes and a vague mixture of shame and arousal. In the submarine, Shaw is leaning in close and licking a stripe up Erik’s neck, palming him through his flimsy excuse for a uniform. “This is the wrongest pairing,” says James in horror, turning his face into Michael’s bicep. “Oh, tell me when it’s over.”

Michael’s fingers come up into his hair, stroking gently. James lets himself be petted -- it’s nice, almost comfortable, despite the guttural groans and moans being emitted from the television, and he smiles tiredly into the fabric of Michael’s sleeve.

“James, hey,” Michael says some few minutes later, “look, it’s you again. Come on.” He nudges James with his arm. “Look, it’s our big fight.”

James looks up just in time to see Charles barrel into Erik with all his might, knocking him to the sand. He’s always liked this scene in the film -- the moment when Charles realizes that he has to hurt Erik to keep him from making the mistake of killing thousands of innocent men. It’s a moment of “genuine human drama,” as Matthew would say, and James thinks back to the day they filmed it, remembering the sun in his eyes and the wind in his hair and the odd, indescribable feeling in his chest as he knocked Michael over again and again.

Then his eyes widen, because on-screen Charles and Erik have stopped struggling and are now kissing, Erik straddling Charles’ hips to pin him down. “ _I want you by my side,_ ” says Erik, and Charles gives a truly ridiculous moan, hips rocking up against him.

James looks over at Michael -- his friend is intensely fixated on the screen, mouth hidden behind his empty glass -- and doesn’t know what to say. He downs the rest of his own whiskey and turns back to the screen.

Charles is on top of Erik now, leaning down to kiss him fiercely. Erik does something complicated with the zippers on Charles’ uniform and suddenly the whole thing comes apart, leaving Charles completely naked. Erik strokes a hand down Charles’s side, other hand coming up to touch the small of his back.

“We’re really going to fuck,” blurts out James, “right there in the middle of the beach, with everyone else watching.”

“ _We,_ ” says Michael, giving him a look. “You mean _they?_ ”

James flushes crimson. “You know what I mean,” he says. “Honestly, this is just -- this is ridiculous.”

“You’ve just noticed this now?” asks Michael. He’s clearly embarrassed, too, if the blush on his face is any indication. “Calm down, James, it’s just a bunch of porn stars screwing around. We can turn it off if you want.”

If only the actors didn’t look so much like them, maybe James would be able to let it go. But of all the porn stars in Hollywood, the casting directors have managed to find their exact doubles, and James feels like he’s watching himself and Michael fuck on-screen, not their characters. The way Charles’ mouth opens wide when Erik shoves his cock into him, the way Erik’s eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows draw together -- it’s like someone’s taken the dailies from the set and edited them together into _this_.

“Yeah, let’s just,” James casts about for the television controls, “I’m turning this off.”

The room is too quiet afterwards, silent except for their breathing. James reaches for the whiskey bottle only to find it’s empty.

“That was interesting,” says Michael.

“I hate you,” groans James, though he really doesn’t. He shuts his eyes against the lights. “Call a cab, Fassbender, get out.”

Michael starts to pack up, setting the empty glasses and bottle on the nightstand and pulling his shoes back on before getting up to eject the DVD. “You want me to leave this here?”

“Fuck you,” says James, before laughing a little, drunk and helpless. “Get that out of here before I set it and you on fire.”

“And leave Anne-Marie a prison wife?” Michael laughs, and James throws a pillow weakly in his direction. “Okay, I’m going, I’m gone.”

James closes his eyes again. “If I miss the interview tomorrow, I’m blaming it on you.” Michael’s only response is a pat to James’ ankle, and a few seconds later the door clicks shut loudly behind him. James stretches out on the bed, thinking of Michael’s fingers in his hair, and falls asleep almost instantly.


End file.
